The one where Peter receives his first birthday card from Neal
by piper.ellis
Summary: ...and the title says it all... cuz it's fun and i need me something in the hiatus ;)


THE ONE WERE PETER RECEIVES HIS FIRST BIRTHDAY CARD FROM NEAL

_I own nothing. I am just playing here. Gleefully. My profit is totally non-monetary consisting of grins and chuckles imagining what never made it to screen. Hope you profit similarly ;)_

"Hon?"

Peter turned his head from the folders he'd littered over the coffee table to where El stood in their entry way. She had a hand full of mail, her eyes fixed on an off-white envelope she was holding up for closer inspection.

"Yeah?"

"Do we know anyone living in Belgium?"

"What?"

Elle turned her eyes to him, holding up an envelope for him to see it better. "It's addressed to you with _Happy Birthday_ written under the address."

Peter's brows furrowed, his mind running but reaching nothing substantial. He reached out and Elle handed it over, the rest of the mail momentarily forgotten in her grasp. Peter looked over the envelope, at the postage and stamps, the seal - the handwriting. Everything seemed legitimate, untampered and no forged postmarks adorning the rich paper stock of the envelope, the paper stock thick enough to be opaque even when Peter held it against the sunlight streaming in thru their living room window.

"Is there a case you didn't tell me about?" Elle asked.

Elle's question starlted Peter from his deepening inspection as he tried to figure out what his gut was telling him that his mind hadn't clarified.

Elle raised a brow at her husband's blank, wide gaze. "You suspecting anthrax to be in there? If that's that case I have half a refrigerator of orchids I need to move before every one and god descend on our home -" She was serious and she was jesting but she brought him back to the present with her graceful gesture behind her towards the kitchen and a quirk of a smile.

"No" He shook his head, emphasizing it perhaps more for him than for her; "No, Hon, no new cases. Nothing like that."

Seemingly out of thin air she presented him with a letter opener. Rolling his eyes he reminded himself that she kept it on the side table she'd just tossed the deserving mail onto. She turned heal to toss the junk mail into recycling and Peter found himself alone with the letter opener and the letter while his gut still nagged on.

Nothing about it seemed dangerous. In contrast, the paper stock was so thick and soft it showed off actual chips and whorls of linen and pulp and the penmanship was exquisite in a rich, heavy ink. Peter sliced cleanly thru the flap of the envelope, quickly pressing it open between his fingers just incase grainy white powder was inside.

The ensemble all bent one way, then the other, and Peter finally forced a controlled breath aimed between the sheets, finally popping it apart: Nothing unexpected inside.

Hm.

He carefully pulled out a card that seemed to be the same rich, heavy paper stock as the envelope but squared on the front was a bright pastoral in what he guessed to be pastels. Everything clicked into place. He swallowed, in reflex, but his throat was already so dry it felt sand papered.

Hell.

He didn't even want to but he found himself looking at the back of the card, on the opposite side of the artwork was elegantly inscribed in rich black ink "_Hope this reaches you in time. Have a great one, Peter"_.

The penmanship - that was the tell he'd missed on the envelope. Ice burned thru his veins and he wasn't sure if it was anger at the con's audacity or at himself, that he hadn't finished the job by catching the kid.

"That's really beautiful" Elle spoke up again. He raised his eyes, finding her standing at his knee, her head near his shoulder, inches shorter without her heels on. She turned her gaze off the card and onto his. Neither said a thing for a long second, then Elle produced a zip lock baggie and carefully slid it over the card, over Peter's fingers, smoothly preserving it as evidence. Peter let go once he was sure it was encased inside the plastic, letting his breath go and collapsing back into the sofa in the same movement. Elle dropped the baggie in front of them and followed her husband back, slouching into his shoulder.

"You can take it into the office tomorrow" she remarked.

Peter made a noise low in his throat, agreeing, disagreeing, commenting, some of all three perhaps.

Elle rolled her head into him and Peter gathered her in his arms, grateful to have something so good he could wrap his arms around, feeling her alive and vibrant against him even while at rest. Both sat, Peter letting his eyes drift closed as he listened to the calm enwrapping them.

"You're going to catch him."

Peter tighten his arms around her; "I certainly hope so."

Elle shook her head against him and Peter didn't bother opening his eyes yet.

"You're a good man, Peter Burke" Elle continued. "You're going to think of something that will bring him in and then he's going on the strait and narrow."

Caffery on the strait and narrow: Yeah right; only if it involved some elaborate escape with an egress impossible to any other man would Neal Caffery cross onto the strait and narrow.

Elizabeth dug an elbow into his lower ribs, stealing a bit of his breath away as she suddenly got to her feet. "I have chicken in the oven. Go get cleaned up and I'll put together our dinner."

Peter remained sofa bound, cracking his eyes to watch Elizabeth saunter, yes, saunter, into their kitchen. Peter continued to look about the living room as sounds of Elle opening the oven and pulling out cooking ware sounded in their new home. Every thing had found its place, walls were painted, and little Satchmo was snoring softly in his crate after a very vivacious afternoon walk. Peter's eyes returned to the card, to the tiny, bright piece of land beautifully captured upon it: some foreign place he might never set eyes on, some piece of never-land, he decided, his eyes seizing on the lush variegated greens luxuriating in warm golden light.

Peter was surprised to find a wistfulness inside him too, gazing at the art.

Why had Caffery taken a moment to craft this vista for him? Taunting and prideful, yes, Caffery all the way, but - well, Peter wondered if there was something more, something in Neal like the odd wistfulness Peter had just discovered inside himself.

Satchmo gave a loud snort in his sleep and shifted and Peter grimaced at his own momentary whimsy. The Con was just continuing his tradition of ulcer-inducing irritation. Tomorrow Peter would log this card into evidence and it would be added to the box with the green sucker and everything else he'd already gathered. The matter settled in his mind, Peter rose, heading for the cabinets holding their dishes. "It smells really good" he called out, setting the table.

"Thanks, Hon. I'm trying a new recipe."

Peter froze, only a mere portion of a second, so short the time between plates hitting the table seemed natural.

"What is it?" The last recipe she'd used him as a guinea pig for had also smelled delicious but turned out far less than savory. Caffery completely wiped from his mind, he offered up a silent prayer: someday, somehow, someone else might do this instead of him.

"It's a version of Cacciatore, Hon."


End file.
